


Tender Concern

by LPSunnyBunny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Comfort Sex, Double Penetration in One Hole, Dual Bulges (Homestuck), Explicit Consent, Light Dom/sub, Multi, No Dialogue, Pale Undertones, Past Slavery, Past Torture & Imprisonment (Helmsman), Polyamory, Praise Kink, Psionics, Threesome - F/M/M, Wet & Messy, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPSunnyBunny/pseuds/LPSunnyBunny
Summary: The Psiioniic has been overworking himself for far too long- it's impossible to say no to new tasks and duties when you've never learned how to make choices on your own.The Signless and the Disciple finally recognize this and take matters into their own hands.
Relationships: The Disciple/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman/The Signless | The Sufferer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Sloppy Seconds 2020, Sunny's Portfolio





	Tender Concern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnarkySoleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkySoleil/gifts).



The Psiioniic is well aware of the looks he gets.

The freed helmsman of the most elite, most imperial ship known to all Trolls- and the rebellion freed him. Close to the Signless and the Disciple- of course rumors would follow.

Freed deliberately.

A plant.

A ticking time bomb.

Even now, three sweeps later, the Psiioniic is vividly aware of the gazes that linger on his back.

He tries not to let them bother him. He knows the truth and the Signless and the Disciple know the truth and that’s what’s important. He’ll earn his keep and gain their trust and that will be that, he’ll prove that he can be useful.

Long hours working well past the time he should be off to sleep, dragging himself from his slumber early to throw himself into numbers and reports and simulations to gain a new edge, anything that might help, find the tiniest bit of information, decrypt transmissions- anything that might be useful, he tears through as much of it as possible.

This is his use, after all- he takes tasks given to him and completes them. No matter how hard it is, the rebellion freed him so he needs to give his support and pay them back. He needs to be useful. Needs to complete his tasks. What does it matter if his body feels heavier (it’s already heavy, heavy in comparison to the agonizing nothingness of being a helmsman), what does it matter if he finds his control slipping and he has to ground himself more these days? Clearly it’s a side effect of no longer having his psionics be on constant demand.

Really, he should have realized it was only a matter of time before something broke.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter what caused it. One assignment too many, unable to refuse, one too many sleepless nights, one too many pointed, sneering looks even though it’s been _sweeps,_ it’s been sweeps and he’s _free_ he’s free he’s no traitor, he’s not, he’s grateful and here to work and he wants to _help-_

He has a meltdown.

Humiliatingly public, psionic overload and everything. It’s a miracle no one was hurt. It’s a miracle that the Signless was there to bring him down and ground him. It’s a miracle that he knows won’t happen again- next time it will be deadly. He can’t let it happen again.

So the next day, when the Signless and the Disciple come to him, he’s ready with a litany of apologizes and promises to do better and control himself.

His words dry up, though, as the Signless puts a hand on his forearm, right in the crook of his elbow. His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth as the Signless gently guides him to sit and, with soft, careful words, asks about how the Psiioniic has been doing.

Fumblingly, the Psiioniic talks about his duties and how he’s been handling them and his efficiency levels- only for the Disciple to cut through all of his words and ask how _he’s_ doing. How he, the Psiioniic is doing. Not how his work is going.

He’s ashamed to say he short-circuits a little bit. He finds himself at a loss for words because for the longest time, things like _feelings_ simply didn’t exist. The only thing was _compliance._

He struggles to articulate this- and doesn’t miss the look that the Signless and the Disciple trade, though he doesn’t know how to interpret the furrows of their brows, the softness in their gazes.

The whole situation feels distinctly pale, though he’s not quite sure how to handle that. His brain decides to simply ignore it in it’s entirety- helmsmen don’t get to fill quadrants, after all. It’s simple enough to-

The Disciple asks him if the Psiioniic would like to come to her and the Signless’ tent.

Forget before- _this_ is an embarrassed short circuit, sparks crackling and his face going hot as he grips the closest thing he can touch- which ends up being the Signless’ cape. He releases it hastily and looks between them, but there’s no mockery or cruelty in their gazes- before he can say anything, before he can open his mouth and accept because that’s what’s expected of him, what’s another task on his plate, _especially_ one from the ones he owes his freedom to, the Signless holds up a hand and stops him.

It’s his choice, the Signless explains gently. This isn’t something he _needs_ to do, or something that is expected of him. If the Psiioniic doesn’t want to do this, then he shouldn’t do it- and nothing bad will happen if the Psiioniic doesn’t want to.

But, if he does want to, the he can come to them- and Psiioniic will be in charge. He’ll be the one calling the shots.

The Signless tells him to think about it and take a couple of days to decide. The Psiioniic, confused and uncertain, reluctantly agrees.

The next day, when he gets up, he finds out that the Signless has cut his workload in half. Tasks that were assigned to him have been swept away and passed off to other people- and when the Psiioniic hunts down the Signless and questions him about it, the Signless just gently pats his shoulder and tells the Psiioniic that he doesn’t need to accept every task that comes his way- that burning the candle at both ends every night will cause him more harm that good.

Psiioniic isn’t sure how to take this. He goes to his work and, for the first time in... More than a sweep, maybe, he finds himself with spare time.

If he wanders the camp, he’ll face not-quite-hostile stares. If he goes out and sits on his own, he’ll get subtly, suspiciously questioned when he returns. So, rather than go and find the Signless and the Disciple like he’s itching to do so, he sits and tries to think.

Should he accept their offer? Was the reduction of his workload a one time thing, is it meant to be a punishment or a reward? Now he’s sitting with only his own thoughts and circling and trying to figure things out.

The Psiioniic ends up deciding that he’s over-thinking things. The Signless is a straightforwards man- if he had something to say, he would say it outright instead of implying it in confusing, passive-aggressive gestures.

He goes to their tent.

They welcome him with bright, happy smiles. He doesn’t quite know how to respond, so he lets them tug him down to sit between them again.

It’s weird. Most times, when he’s caged in, he feels shaky, nervous. The ghosts of the technicians circle him and make him want to move away.

Not with these two. With these two, he never feels anything other than safe.

The Signless tells him that he’s noticed that the Psiioniic always takes on too much- but he didn’t realize how far it goes, how deeply Psiioniic is unable to say no, unable to choose the tasks he needs to focus his energy on.

Coming from anyone else, it would be demeaning. Embarrassing, maybe, but- the Signless is so sincere- always, always sincere.

The Disciple lends her own words to the Signless’, telling the Psiioniic how tonight, it’s all about him- about letting him _choose._

It’s all very overwhelming. The Psiioniic tells them as much. They smile and take his hands and the Signless asks what the Psiioniic wants to do.

The Psiioniic doesn’t quite know. There are _so many choices_ available to him, so many things he could say, how could he possibly pick something that all three of them will enjoy? He’s nervous of saying the wrong thing, of fucking up and getting kicked out of their tent.

Something on his face must show, because the Disciple makes a soft, sympathetic noise and asks if he’s overwhelmed. He nods jerkily and she asks if he wants to lie down- and when he nods again, they do that, bracketing him on either side.

They lie there for a handful of minutes as the Psiioniic’s panic slowly recedes- and then he feels stupid. Of course they won’t kick him out. The Signless and the Disciple are the two kindest trolls he’s ever known.

So he squeezes their hands and asks if they’ll kiss him.

The Signless moves first. He props himself up on an elbow and leans in, gently pressing their mouths together. Kissing him is gentle and tender- and it feels endlessly pale, comforting and sweet and the Psiioniic is warmed to the core by it, finds himself holding onto the Signless’ shoulders and sighing softly.

Then the Disciple is kissing him and she feels more insistent- still gentle, but more teasing, flicks of her tongue and grins against his mouth and when he touches her she’s toned and muscle and yet still soft and tender.

When they part, he’s on his side, the Signless curled around his back, the Disciple pressed up against his front. He feels safe- but more than that, he feels hot and warm all over, a sensation long forgotten starting to collect in his gut. A hunger- something suppressed as helmsman, something shunned and cut away.

_Desire._

He touches the Disciple’s waist, asks her to kiss him, flushing at the words, at the realization that he _gets to ask for things_ , shivering and uncomfortable with the notion, but- the Signless is a broad warmth against his back, his hand resting lightly on the Psiioniic’s waist, comforting and grounding.

The Disciple kisses him. The Psiioniic clumsily tries to kiss her back- his inexperience must shine through but she has nothing to say about it except to hum in enjoyment when his bifurcated tongue rolls against hers. Her face is pleasantly flushed- her eyes half-lidded- when he pulls back, and he knows his own is glowing yellow from the force of his embarrassed arousal.

He stumbles over his words as he asks them to disrobe- but the Signless just kisses his shoulder and the Psiioniic misses their warmth as they pull away to do ask he asks.

They’re both so beautiful. The Disciple is rippling grace and lean muscle and beautiful, wild hair falling about her; the Signless is broad and warm with a handsome jawline and brilliantly red eyes and gentle, _gentle_ hands.

They settle back down next to him and he simultaneously feels exposed and yet too covered up- he’s vividly aware of the Disciple’s breasts against his chest and the way his ass is mere inches away from pressing into the Signless- so he blurts out the request for them to strip him, too.

And then their hands are on him, leaving tingling sensation in their wake, every inch of him feeling a deep, hungry sense of _yearning_ like nothing he’s ever felt before. Every inch of himself cries out for their touch, to be _held_ and to feel them against him. He feels like a wriggler as they work together to strip him, pressing kisses in their wake, making him shiver and tremble.

The Signless whispers about how wonderful the Psiioniic is. Murmurs about how lovely and beautiful he is- and how long he’s admired the Psiioniic for his strength. The words sink into the Psiioniic’s chest and light him up with pleased embarrassment- and he can feel his bulges slowly slipping out as the Signless and the Disciple settle back into place.

He asks them to touch him. The Signless asks where. The Psiioniic has to fight through the hot ball in his chest to say his bulges- and then both of them close a hand around one of them.

Just the simple touch has him reeling. Pressure and sensation in a place not touched in many _many_ sweeps- he tucks his face into the Disciple’s shoulders as he shivers and moans.

Their touch is so _gentle-_ he almost can’t take it. He lets them stroke and caress over him gently before panting for them to stop- and the _do_. They let go, pull their hands back, wait for his words.

It’s such a simple thing. The tiniest thing imaginable. Taking their hands back when he asks them to.

And they do.

The Psiioniic doesn’t know why- but he’s tearing up. The Disciple gently cups his cheeks, thumbs away his tears, as she asks him if he’s okay. He can only nod and asks for them to hug him.

They do. Gentle and warm, he’s sandwiched between these wonderful trolls who _care._

He breathes his way through the couple of tears that trickle down his cheeks until he’s feeling steadier- and they don’t let him go through the whole thing. When he’s feeling steadier, he realizes that his bulges had somehow twined around the Disciple’s, rubbing and twisting together- the sensations electric and pleasurable as they radiate up into his stomach.

He knows what he wants. It takes him a couple of tries- but he get it out, and of course they say yes.

It’s a matter of positioning, shifting them around- and then it’s the Signless laid out on his back, the Psiioniic straddling his thighs, with the Disciple pressed up along his back. She wraps her arms around his waist and hooks her chin over his shoulder, and then the Signless is reaching up and sliding his fingers gently over the Psiioniic’s shoulders reassuringly. His vividly red bulge is squirming lazily against his belly and it sends a thrill through the Psiioniic to see it.

The Signless tilts his head up as the Psiioniic leans in to kiss him. The Signless hums softly and smiles softly, wordlessly inviting the Psiioniic to go ahead- and Psiioniic does. His hands touch over the Signless’ chest and then one braces on the bed as his other hand finds the Signless' bulge and carefully guides it into himself, lowering his hips and guiding it to press and wiggle up into his nook. 

The Signless lets out a pleased groan and it sends molten pleasure into the Psiioniic’s core- _he made the Signless sound like that._ It’s a hot and heady realization- as hot as the Signless' bulge feels inside of him, the Psiioniic's dual bulges squirming in the air and rubbing against themselves in pleasure.

The Psiioniic has to breathe through the terror that flutters through him at doing something so expressly forbidden- helmsmen _don’t get relations-_ but he’s not a helmsman anymore. He’s just the Psiioniic. It’s alright. He’s allowed to do this.

Then he’s giving the Disciple the go-ahead and she’s slipping forwards a little, hands on his waist as she guides him up a touch- just enough to let her bulge press up into the Psiioniic’s nook.

It’s overwhelming. The Signless and the Disciple fill him up completely- he feels so stuffed full, stuffed to the breaking point, hot and shivery all over. He can feel his psionics crackling under his skin as the only thing holding him together is the barest shreds of rationality. He’s on the precipice and he’s clinging on by his fingers.

The Disciple asks if he wants her to move- and he has to shake his head. Not yet. She wraps her arms around his waist and holds him as shivers and tries to wrestle his psionics under control, the Signless’ hands on his thighs a gentle grounding point.

He finally pants out permission for the Disciple to move- for both of them to move, to fuck him. He wants them to fuck him, to use him and cum inside of him, wants them to touch and make him feel good- and he wants _them_ to feel good, too.

The Disciple moves. The Psiioniic can feel the bulges inside him twisting and squirming together, twining and writhing, massaging him deep inside, making him moan and squirm and he begs the Signless to hold him down so he doesn’t ruin it by bucking away- it’s just so _much,_ he’s so full-

The Signless puts his hands on the Psiioniic’s hips and holds him in place, not letting him pull away as their bulges seek deeper and deeper into him- finding every sensitive spot and mindlessly writhing across it, making the Psiioniic arch and cry out in pleasure. It crackles through him, across his skin, in his belly, hot and molten and _so good._ It’s good- it’s delicious and he feels _wanted_ and seen- the two most perfect trolls he’s ever known and they care about him enough to give him this, to _let him choose this-_ he’s overwhelmed in the best way, nothing like his overwhelmed meltdown, this is overwhelmed _pleasure._ Filling him to the core and breaking him to pieces- and he knows that the Signless and the Disciple will be right there to pick him up and carefully slot him back together when it’s all done and he needs to be coherent again.

He lets himself shake apart, unable to even articulate his feelings anymore, barely able to gasp out noises as he’s fucked and filled and stuffed to the brim- as he’s taken and pitied and cared for by the only trolls who matter.

He can feel the crackling jolts he’s throwing off, can feel the Disciple’s touch of her skin against his, can feel the Signless’ hands holding him perfectly, and feel them both touching him, touching and touching and filling up and he’s stuck, he’s getting stuck in a recurse loop, sensations flooding through him and building with no release, no trigger-

He begs for them to touch him. He needs it, needs that last little push- and the Disciple gives it to him, touches his bulges and strokes them and he cums so hard that his control on his psionics slip and fall and his eyes are rolling back as _perfect_ fullness rockets through him and he’s shaking and shaking and they’re touching him, everything’s wet and hot and he feels raw and hot and wet and his brain is like soft clay, he can’t focus on anything and they’re touching and holding him as he’s shaking apart.

Gradually, he comes down. The Disciple and the Signless are talking to him, soft words, gently touching over him, and he gradually comes back to himself. He feels exhausted down to the marrow of his bones- so deep it touches his core, but it feels _good._ He feels good in a way that he can’t remember ever feeling before.

The Psiioniic realizes that the Signless is asking him if he’s alright- and the Psiioniic nods in response. He’s not sure that the ability to speak has returned to him yet, but as he lies there and sinks in the deep warmth of the both of them _touching_ him, he realizes that a pressure between his temples, a headache so pervasive that he had almost forgotten what it was like to not hurt there... is gone.

His psionics feel settled. They aren’t threatening to lash out from his grasp, aren’t fighting to break free. They aren’t straining and chomping at the bit to be unleashed. It will be later that he learns that when he hit his peak, he discharged enough energy to overcharge all of the camp's electronics- knocking some of the non-grounded, weaker devices out.

But for now, he’s warm and held and everything is buzzing so pleasantly and he feels nice and safe and okay, maybe he should have tried to warn them because they absolutely forgot the pail and now everything is _soaked_ , but they’ll deal with that later because the Psiioniic feels so so good and kind of wants to go a second round. It’s kinda his thing, after all.

He’ll ask in a little bit. He’s basking in being held, right now.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing, check me out on twitter at [@LPSunnyBunny](http://www.twitter.com/LPSunnyBunny)!


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